Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

"No." Genevra replied so fast she nearly obscured the end of Nightfall’s request.

"The knowledge might help my sister. And others like her and like you. Maybe I can even find a way to rid the world of whoever’s stalking you. It’s about time someone hunted the hunters." It was a hollow consideration, falling far short of a promise. Even as Nightfall, he had never dared to challenge sorcerers. Nearly every one kept his ghastly talent well-hidden and his powers unpredictable. It had seemed simpler and wiser to avoid them.

Nevertheless, Genevra found hope in Nightfall’s words. "About a year ago, I got work dancing at a hall down in Noshtillan. Nothing to complain about. Old Uber treated us pretty good given Noshtill’s just shy of slave country.” Genevra did not continue her healing, obviously concerned that flip-flopping emotions might cause her to hurt him again. "When a show didn’t go the best, he’d threaten to replace us all with bought girls, but he didn’t mean it." The Healer smiled nervously, humor shaded by fear. “Uber’d travel a lot to dance halls in other towns. Whenever he’d see something he liked, he’d bring back girls to teach it to us." She glanced at Nightfall, apparently to ascertain his reaction to the story so far.

Nightfall gave his attention fully, clinging to every word. He nodded encouragement for Genevra to continue.

"’bout three months ago, he brought back this Nemixite. Good dancer. She taught us a mass of new moves, nice ones, too. Some of them Uber brings back get standoffish thinking they’re so much better because someone brought them to teach. This one was real nice. We got to be friends." Genevra considered, chewing on her lower lip so persistently, Nightfall felt certain it would soon start to bleed. "So anyway, one day I go to see her to ask her about some moves. She didn’t have no private signal out, so I just went in without knocking.” She swallowed hard, suppressing major signs of distress that might attract the guards but unable to keep a tremor from her hands. "First thing I see is…" She closed her eyes.

Nightfall glanced between the sentries. Keeping his movement deliberate and without threat, he caught Genevra’s hand and gave a comforting squeeze. The Delforians huddled and stared, their expressions hard, but they did not interfere.

"A man. A stranger." Genevra’s fingers winched around Nightfall’s tight enough to hurt even after the healing. He appreciated her decision not to try to use her natal ability and speak at once. She looked at him, eyes moist with distress. "He lay on the floor, his back arched, his face twisted in pain like nothing I had ever seen. He was bleeding." Her grip lessened slightly. "I don’t know what l was thinking. Nothing, I guess. I reached to help him instinctively and touched his leg." She made an involuntary noise of anguish, soft as a whispered whine. "That pain, I can’t describe it." Despite her denial, she attempted to do so. "It went deep, to the core. I felt as if I touched his very soul. He had a birth-gift of some sort, and agony had brought it to the surface. A force like a dull knife was hacking the talent from him, and the pain only brought the gift more fully to the front." Genevra made another wordless sound, this time more of a sob.

Nightfall gave Genevra’s fingers a comforting squeeze, though it served only to clinch her grip tighter in response.

"Then I saw him."

"The sorcerer?" Nightfall guessed.

Genevra continued, letting the story serve answer. "He crouched over the man in pain, doing something, I never saw what. There was blood everywhere and… the pain and… and then he looked at me. Those eyes…” The Healer fell silent, attempting to gather enough composure to put words together in sequence. "The eyes seemed to flay me open, and he was smiling, like he enjoyed the agony he caused. And he knew… I know he knew. He touched my birth-gift, caressed it like a rapist, and I felt violated.” Genevra started crying now, violent with anguish. She caught at Nightfall, and he held her despite the guards’ glares.

Though young and beautiful, Genevra and her closeness brought Nightfall more discomfort than pleasure. Her description raised fear even in the hell-born demon he had come to believe himself to be. Her touch reminded him of Kelryn’s false love and the tears of his mother’s temporarily sincere apologies.

"I ran," Genevra managed to say at length. "I didn’t stop till I reached the innocence of a farm town." She gestured at random. "And I made my deal with the over-lord." Genevra pushed free of Nightfall’s hold, her crying already lessening to sniffles. Though her dress had scarcely wrinkled, she brushed at it in grand gestures and placed her hands gently against Nightfall’s wounded thigh. The healing process started again, but Genevra finished her story. “There was nothing I could have done for the man. If I’d stayed, I just would have given the sorcerer my power as well."

Nightfall nodded, hiding his own uneasiness behind concern for Genevra. "Sounds horrible. You poor thing."

"I was lucky." Genevra continued her work. "Whatever that man had must have been more important to the sorcerer than healing. He could have gone after me first. Or I might have blacked out instead of run."

Nightfall could not assess the truth of the comment. He knew nothing but rumors about how sorcerers claimed their victim’s natal gifts. "Is it true what they say? Did he eat the man’s beating heart?"

Genevra shuddered; this time, her healing did not falter. "I don’t know. I didn’t stay to see." She fell into a silence punctuated only by her own sighing breaths in the wake of her frenzy of grief over the memory.

Nightfall kept his head low, respecting her need for quiet. The guards relaxed a bit, clearly more comfortable with the hush than the conversation they could not fathom and gestures they could not fully read.

At length, Genevra took her hands away. “Finished," she said, but her manner betrayed a need.

"Thank you," Nightfall said, examining his leg. A jagged scar puckered the skin, and only movement would tell if it had left him with a limp. Still, though he wanted to stand and test the healing, he waited for Genevra to speak her request. When, after several moments, she did not, Nightfall prompted. "You want me to chase down this sorcerer, don’t you?" Nightfall had no intention of complying, but it cost him nothing to claim that he would.

"Oh, no." Genevra still seemed paralyzed by the memory. "I wouldn’t wish my worst enemy to face off with raw evil. I just thought well maybe if you’re headed that way…?" She looked up, judging his reaction.

Nightfall returned her gaze with feigned affection and tenderness. "We’re going south, yes.”

Encouraged, Genevra finished. "Would you check on the dancer whose room I went to? Someone told me she never made it back to Nemix. I felt so guilty leaving her trapped with a sorcerer, but I was too panicked to try to save her, too. Now, I feel awful for my cowardice. I know she’s probably dead, too; but I can’t help hoping for her. If you find her, tell her I’m all right. And I wanted to help."

"I’ll tell her." Nightfall agreed with sincerity. Delivering such a message could only gain more information and goodwill, though he doubted he could possibly find the Nemixian dancer alive. "What’s her name?"

"Kelryn." Genevra launched into a description that Nightfall knew by rote.

Kelryn. Thoughts descended upon Nightfall in a storm. He would find her alive, he felt certain of it. The evil he had projected upon her intensified a hundredfold. She had not only betrayed him; apparently, she made a career of turning over the natally gifted to sorcerers. She sold me and my love for a sorcerer’s money. He no longer doubted that Gilleran knew precisely what he was, and the realization sent a shiver of fury through him. For Kelryn’s crime, she must pay with more than her life. He would find a way to inflict the pain that she had intended him and caused at least one other. “I’ll find her," Nightfall promised, hiding his determination behind a practiced mask of candor. "You can depend on it."